


The Scorpion & The Frog

by fragile



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Set During Vanilla P5, Two Dumb Boys Who Can't Say What They Mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28655136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragile/pseuds/fragile
Summary: During a break in Mementos, Akechi tells Akira a story.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	The Scorpion & The Frog

“Are you,” Akechi begins, nonchalant, “Familiar with fables?”

Akira glances towards him. It had been the first time in hours that the two teenagers had spoken to one another. It always seemed that, when they were out in Mementos, they were much more content to keep in each other’s company without nary a word between them— perhaps afraid of the things they might say if given the opportunity. Yet, each and every time Akechi asked him to accompany him for training alone, Akira went.

Akira was never much of a conversationalist anyways: he preferred to watch, to listen, to be there.

The detective prince is regarding him carefully through his red, beak-shaped mask. Sometimes, when he’s awakened from a nightmare in the dead of night, Akira thinks of that mask. Thinks of the maroon eyes behind it. Of how badly he wished he could know what secrets they hid. He realizes he’s gone far too long without responding, so he gives the boy a nod of his head.

“Naturally, I assumed you would be,” Akechi seems pleased by his answer. He sat across from Akira, in one of the little white seats of the rest area. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, though rigid with perfect posture. It seemed that the detective prince kept up appearances even when it came to sitting— like he was holding the position and trying too hard to look relaxed when he obviously wasn’t.

Akira waits for him to speak again. Akechi didn’t, for a long moment, so long that Akira half-believed that was the end of their conversation. The brown-haired male looked lost in thought, as if he was in the middle of a grueling game of wits with the leader of the Phantom Thieves. And in a way, he was: Akira knew of the ending Akechi had written out for him, knew that in just a few weeks they would no longer be in each other’s company.

The thought makes Akira’s heart ache.

Finally, Akechi continues: “Do you know of the tale of The Scorpion and The Frog?”

Akira blinks, mentally running through a list of stories he’s read over his lifetime. He shakes his head.

He expects Akechi to laugh— that soft little laugh of his that, like much of his character, seemed forced. Though he knew that it wasn’t real, Akira often thought about it. He would have liked to hear his real laugh, one of these days. Instead, the other boy simply nods and presses his knuckles to his chin. “I see.” There is neither amusement nor disappointment in his words, which intrigues Akira.

“A scorpion and a frog come across each other on the bank of a stream,” Akechi says, his tone as idyllic as ever, “And The Scorpion asks: ‘Will you take me across the water?’. The Frog is suspicious of the creature and replies: ‘Surely not, you’ll sting me.’”

Akira has found himself leaning just a bit closer. He can hear it: the faintest of bitterness that laces his words as he weaves the story. Akira wonders if Akechi even heard it, himself.

“The Scorpion knows that The Frog should be wary of it. So it assures: ‘If I were to sting you, I would die as well.’ The Frog is satisfied by this, and so it allows The Scorpion to climb on its back. They are midway across the stream when The Scorpion stings The Frog.”

Akechi pauses, closes his eyes for a moment. “The Frog becomes paralyzed and the two begin to sink. In despair, The Frog asks: ‘Why?’” He reopens his eyes and they seem to glint dangerously under the pale lights of the booth. “And The Scorpion replies, simply: ‘I couldn’t help it. It is in my nature.’”

Akira mulls over the story, thinking. It feels like he has just bit into a rotten fruit, the juices lingering in his mouth even after he has long spit it out. Akechi has turned his attention to the passing train as it makes the station rumble. He knows that the detective prince does not think him stupid. He knows that the story is much less a simple fable.

He studies Akechi. He was beautiful— even with the fresh bruises and wounds he’s received from the shadows. His features are soft, his hair sways with the breeze, his chest slowly rises and falls. It is no wonder he was considered a prince— he reminds Akira of a sculpture, something that belonged in a museum. 

But he also notices how his face is unsmiling. How his eyes appear so devoid of life. When they first met, there was always a sparkle in Akechi’s eyes, but Akira soon learned that was as false as the rest of him. This Akechi, the one who has given him a warning in the form of a fable, was the real one.

And Akira was not a selfish person, but if he only had one wish— he’d wish he could have met Akechi sooner, before he thought himself of an unchanging scorpion. Akira begins, quietly: “The two make their way across the stream.” Akechi looks back to him, once more, unable to hide the puzzlement on his face. “And they reach the other side.”

Akechi laughs, a little too high, with uncertainty. His smile is too-wide, unnatural. _“Kurusu-kun—”_

“— And The Frog asks: ‘Wait. Isn’t it in your nature to sting me?’” Akira’s heart races a bit. “The Scorpion gets off its back and answers: ‘Maybe I can’t control my nature, but I can control my actions.’”

Akechi doesn’t say anything. The smile has faded once more. His eyes flash with something that is too quick for Akira to catch— perhaps anger? Akira meets them with his own grays unflinchingly. He’s not scared of the other boy. Even after learning about his orchestrated demise, he can not look at him and feel fear.

He feels many things, but not fear.

“For some,” Akechi argues placidly, “It is far too late for that.”

 _It doesn’t have to be,_ Akira thinks. The words get caught in his throat. He sees himself going towards the other boy, taking his gloved hand, clutching it tightly. Hoping that, with just that small gesture, Akechi will spill all of his secrets.

Instead, Akira remains sitting. And Akechi must have caught the intensity of his gaze, because he chuckles. 

“Of course, you wouldn’t think like that, would you? You’re a _rebel.”_ Akechi says the last word like it’s something ugly. “You believe you can change whatever fate has decided for you.”

“For us,” Akira clarifies.

“I’m afraid the scales of the world do not tip towards freedom of self. You are simply doomed to be what you are— and that is why you should never be too trusting of the scorpions that request a ride on your back.”

“Do you really think that?” Akira asks with a frown.

“Of course.”

“But you have a persona,” Akira points out, “You’re a rebel, just like the rest of us.”

“I am _not_ like you and your band of misfits,” Akechi says through gritted teeth. There was a snarl to his words, a rage masked behind all those pleasantries. Fascinating.

If Ryuji was here, he’d laugh and say: _“Come on, dude! Get over yourself, you’re one of us— whether you like it or not!”_

But Ryuji wasn’t here. In this dark and endless labyrinth, it was just himself and Akechi. The leader of thieves and a detective prince. Another train passes them, but this time neither look towards it. Akira doesn’t want to scare off the other side of Akechi he was drawing out, but he didn’t want to back off either. It was a delicate balance, Akira was learning.

“Then, what is your nature?”

The boy pauses at Akira’s question.

Akechi did not say things without meaning; it was something that drew Akira to him in the first place. He spoke with such purpose. More often than not, his words linger in Akira’s mind long after he departs from his daily cafe visits. Even their idle chatter at the Shibuya station didn’t feel like mindless talk— and this time was no different.

The fable was a warning, but why would Akechi warn him about it in the first place? To gloat? That didn’t seem particularly in character (then again, it wasn’t like Akira really _knew_ his character).

A small hopeful voice in Akira’s mind whispers: _It’s a call for help._

Akira was good at that— helping people. He had met so many interesting characters during his time in Tokyo, and he’d managed to fix up a majority of their lives. A dark part of him believed it was just to keep his mind occupied from himself, but he does not want to believe that was true. 

He wanted to help Akechi too, if he’d let him.

“You remember what I told you? About my mother?” Akechi asks, suddenly sounding very tired, and Akira nods. _How could he forget such a thing?_ The detective had told him how he and his mother suffered after being left abandoned by his bastard of a father. Futaba had thought the tale was a twisted lie for sympathy, but Akira felt differently.

The boy’s eyes shift to the side. _“That_ is my nature.”

He rises to his feet, that pleasant smile back on his face. “Well,” his voice has returned to its normal facade, and panic rises in Akira. He couldn’t let the boy slip away from him. “We’ve taken enough of a break, wouldn’t you say? I still have plenty of work to do, I’m afraid, so we should return to the ent—”

“I don’t believe it,” Akira blurts out, sharper than he intends. He leaps to his feet, not wanting to give the boy a chance to run. Akechi looks at him with a renewed interest. “No way. You can’t think so little of yourself.”

Akechi narrows his eyes dangerously.

Akira is treading on thin ice and he knows it. Yet, he can’t stop himself: “You’re _not_ your parents—”

“And what,” Akechi interjects coldly, “Makes you think you know _who_ I am?” He steps closer to Akira, perhaps to intimidate, but Akira stands his ground. “You don’t _know_ me.”

“I know,” Akira says, softly, once the boy is only a mere inches away from his face. He wishes their masks weren’t in the way. “I know you’ve been hurt, I know you’ve been angry.”

Akechi scoffs.

The phantom thief’s heart is thumping so loudly he wonders if Akechi hears it. “I know you think you’re doomed to be what _they_ want you to be. But I also know you’ve got enough willpower to break those chains.”

The detective’s maroon eyes are boring into his own, as if trying to reach the truth deep within his soul. The fire in the other’s eyes has only grown and Akira’s hand twitches at his side, but he doesn’t let it move.

“And…” Akira feels his throat dry, he’s worried the words will die in his throat. “I know I’d give you a million rides across the stream without hesitation.”

Akechi steps back but never looks away. Akira wants to reach out, grasp him, pull him close. Beg him, _plead with him_ to let him kiss him. Make him understand that he wants to know him so badly it burns. That he could help him, if he only asked. But he does none of these things. Instead, he waits with bated breath.

Finally, Akechi gives a quiet laugh as he shakes his head. It wasn’t like the laughs he’d hear on television, or at the cafe. It was so sincere, raw, like he hadn’t used it in a while. So this was his real laugh? Akira could listen to it forever. “Things aren’t so simple.”

“They could be,” Akira whispers, “if you let them be.”

A train rumbles past them.

“You really are something else, Kurusu-kun,” Akechi murmurs, seeming to have gone off in his own world. What he would have given to know what was running through the detective prince’s head.

“And so are you,” Akira replies.

His words return Akechi to reality. He could see the smallest of smiles— faint, but genuine— behind the other’s mask. And hope swells through him, making him feel like he’s a firecracker that’s just been launched into the air.

Maybe, _just maybe,_ this was a start. Maybe, _just maybe,_ the scorpion could decide to control its actions. And maybe, _just maybe,_ one day he’ll get to hold Akechi the way he does in his dreams. 

Akira likes his ending to the fable better, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this comic](https://seananmcguire.tumblr.com/post/179536085755/we-had-to-write-a-mini-comic-for-my-illustration) that wouldn't leave my mind after i read it.


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